Diary of an Avante-Garde Gardener,
digging Voss Gardens in the Santa Cruz Mountains,
providing organic produce for the Culinary Fellow at the Villa Montalvo Artists in Residency Program and private healthy chefs in my neighborhood.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Sorrel, not exactly a household word or on your regular shopping list. Yet this mysterious vegetable, veiled in acidity, carries a treasure-trove of citrusy notes. Of European origin, the domestic varieties grow year round in our neck of the woods. In spring however, the arrival of its wild relative triggers a refreshed enthusiasm for this curious leafy green.

Wild Sorrel, also known as Sheep Sorrel, casts itself randomly in the nooks and crannies of my landscape, a common weed with a distict acidic bite. Growing up, my kids called it sour grass. They roamed the property foraging the largest leaves, pairing it with bronze fennel sandwiched between layers, gobbling it up like an amuse-bouche. Foodies before their time or just plain hungry? Mama was busy in the garden and they were left candy deprived, craving the tangy tartness of the wild. Fine memories indeed...

French Sorrel has come of age at Voss Gardens. A hearty perennial, its broad leaves have transformed odd plots into lush boutique-ish beds. Sorrel is symbiotic with parsley, and once established, requires little maintenance - some cutting back once a year. The rest of the time it stands at attention, ready to yield its goodness, small leaves for salads, bigger ones for sauces. Baby slugs live to nosh on the stuff, but no worries, the teeny holes they leave behind will disappear into purees.

Red Veined Sorrel, aka Blood Veined, is a newbie this year and mingles cordially into the pastoral color scheme. A brilliant Looker, recently popularized by chefs adventuring into unfamiliar cultivars, but certainly not as pungent as its cousins. It makes a bloody good visual splash in a salad or a bold dash of color in a presentation.The micro greens will party up a plate. The red hues do turn, so if you like pink puree and poopy looking soup its all yours.

For cooking, I'm sticking with Frenchy, aka Rumix Scutatus.The ancient Greeks and Romans valued Sorrel for promoting digestion and considered it a good complement to rich, fatty meals. Rich in potassium and vitamins C and A, its slightly acidic taste makes it a perfect base for a sauce. Sorrel is best raw and pureed, to which any number of ingredients can be added. Recipes abound on Google. It has great affinity with eggs and fish, but can generally accompany a wide range of vittles. Fresh Sorrel leaves chopped into a tangy chiffonade can scatter about like parsley or cilantro.

Warning! This Sorrel Pesto can be addictive devoured in dips, sandwiches, pasta, and pizza.

Omit the nuts and cheese and Voila!- a stunning sauce to drizzle on smoked salmon or kick up a salad

Monday, April 16, 2012

On occasion, gardeners take get aways and visit loved ones. Greetings from The Emerald City of Seattle, the land where sunny days put locals in a tizzy. Wherever I go, the garden finds me, and I couldn't help whistling this song as we strolled through the Conservatory at Volunteer Park.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Why title a post with a quote from T. S. Eliot's, "The Waste Land?"
Because it describes a gardener's frustration with the tease of Spring.

From day one, April celebrates the fool. Disparity's displayed in a splash of contrasting images, trees of pink under skies of grey. Earth Day is hailed and its hailing. The sun shines through random downpours, whacko lightening strikes bridges, high winds bring short lived heat waves. The atmosphere twitterpates with one hundred and one shades of new green pumping up the air. Bulbs burst with fragrance. Migratory birds chirp their return. The hills are alive with forget-me-whats? Lent and all the Easter brouhaha are so over. Next?

Cooks find solace in green garlic and sorrel sauces, but the gardener waits and rants,watching carefully fluffed soil turn to mud, tender seedlings stand up to torrential rains. Luscious greens are picked balancing a broken golf umbrella in one hand, plodding around in wet socks, baggy gortex pants and a clunky raincoat. That sassy Easter bonnet's been replaced by a sorry looking Indiana Jones hat.

Weeds thrive but its too wet to weed. Mudslides threaten, paths are uncertain. The grass sloshes like a wet sponge. Gutters are clogged. Drip is the soundtrack. Aphids are having a heyday while newly hatched insects look to set up camp. Smells of sopped redwood fill allergy inclined nostrils. No happy ducks frolicking around in the puddles. Construction projects are at a standstill.

The promises of Spring get muddled, and that can be cruel. Expectations cause all the angst, as they do in real life. Yet the silver lining rings true. With patience, the showers bring the flowers.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Lets face it, we're all getting older all the time, and with any luck, wiser.

Years of gardening, praying, and other reasons for squatting in homesteading conditions (use your imagination) have left me weak in the knees. As the garden evolves, aside from infrastructural necessities like retaining walls, I look to design areas that moderate the knee bending.

Here I can garden standing up.

Here I can garden sitting down.

The pots are on wheels so they can be repositioned for easy access,
affectionately called "The Granny Garden."

Monday, April 9, 2012

Most mornings, as soon as it becomes light or warm enough, I go outside. Often wearing my bathrobe, with a second cup of coffee in tow, the garden calls for my attention and I jump in. The aches and pains go away. Knowing a good breakfast would keep me going, I get too involved in a project or too dirty to stop. By the time my stomach juices are gnawing and dizziness sets in, I'll grab my go to breakfast in haste, chomping some raw oats and molasses to sooth the appetite. Odd choice, but anyone who knows me well, knows of my secret hankering for raw oats. A bona fide oat nut, cravings for them run deep in my bones. Something about their texture sticks to the ribs. Sweetened with molasses adds iron, minerals and B vitamins. A bowl keeps me going and going...
But when stormy weather sets in, this gardener must stay indoors and make time for Plan B, the kitchen.

Perusing the pantry for inspiration, it all started with an old bag of dried figs. In Santa Cruz slang, "Dude, they were like totally gnarly." Their sugars had crystallized, heightening sweetness but lowering visual appeal, sadly not eye candy. Catching a creative wave, I chopped them into raisin sized pieces, covered them with rum (yo ho ho) and put them aside, awaiting further instruction from the kitchen muse.

A myriad of ingredients step up to the plate and declare, "Play Ball!" My beloved oats form a team with other raw components. Cheering, "Let's Roll!" the idea of power balls hits a home run. They are singing something about take me out to the garden. . . I don't care if we never come back. (OASIS-Over Active Silly Imagination Syndrome.)

Voila! Breakfast Balls to go! Easy, high energy bites that keep going and going and going...
The booze is just for flavor. Pour it off and save it for a rainy day.

Put the mustard seeds in a bowl, pour in bourbon and water,
soak overnight.
Add the apricots and soak for another 12 hours.
Strain mixture and reserve liquid.
In a food processor pulse all ingredients to desired
consistency, adding remaining liquid as needed. (I like the seeds half cracked
for full hot flavor, and half whole to retain the grainy texture.)
Distribute among clean jars, wiping rims and securing lids. Best
refrigerated for at least 2 weeks to allow the flavors to develop and mature. It
will thicken as it sits. Keeps up to 3 months.

Normally I would wait out the aging process, but I'm going to jump the gun for Easter Brunch.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

These year old Russian Red Kale stalks aroused my artistic bent and I just couldn't toss them. They lay piled and waiting for a walk by whim. Sparked by a recent reunion with Steven Simon, master sculptor in residence at Montalvo, and there I was on the ground playing impromptu Lincoln Logs. Somehow their temple like juxtaposition with a cherry tree in bloom inspired a Moment of Zen.